HONEYMOON PHOTO, OCTOBER, 1939

They strike a comic pose
in front of a friend’s rustic cabin
somewhere in the mid-west,
a few days east of their simple wedding.
They’re older than most:
Dad is 31, Mom is 29.
 
Dad’s wearing dungarees and a work shirt,
sleeves rolled up.
His left hand extends
to the barrel-end of a rifle—butt at his feet.
His right firmly grips
the tails of two dead squirrels.
His chin is back,
one leg straight,
one slightly bent,
a look of feigned prowess on his face.
 
Mom stands next to Dad,
elegant in a new honeymoon outfit:
tailored slacks over black and white oxfords,
a white blouse under a buttoned waste-length sweater.
She tentatively holds a single lifeless squirrel
by the tail with thumb and first two fingers.
She's grinning,
can’t quite fake the hunter look.
 
Just behind them on the porch
there’s a mutt dog,
head cocked, ears perked.
Does she see what the lens cannot:
specters of war’s agonies,
child death,
failed expectations,
retrenchment of old age?
Or maybe she discerns
the muscular weight of duty,
the adamantine vow
that would lash them
for sixty-seven more years.
 
Funny, this photo has hung in our house
for as long as I can remember
and I didn’t see these things
until now.

THE OCCASIONAL FIRE

POEMS
Life Scroll
Spirit Wings
Death in the Family
Flight Chief
Legacy
Honeymoon Photo, October, 1939
Land of Rest
On Allison's Leaving
Dandelions
Plantain
The Owl and the Mouse
Telecom's Bequest
Starbucks, Tuesday, 3:36 p.m.
Action Still
Vital Meaning
Fools

HYMNS
God will not let us go
The rising sun blazed out of night
Light! Light! A shattering light
Worship the Lord
As a doe

ABOUT MARK RHOADS